Life, 1922-08-17 · page 26 of 36
Life — August 17, 1922 — page 26: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This satire mocks the clash between avant-garde modernism and traditional American values in 1920s Provincetown, Massachusetts—a real bohemian artists' colony. The conflict centers on a self-consciously "advanced" artist whose house and paintings reject realistic representation for experimental color and abstraction. The humor comes from the confrontation between the Artist (representing modernist pretension) and the Pilgrim (representing Puritan restraint and practicality). When the Pilgrim protests that the Artist has painted his nose ultramarine and feet yellow, the Artist responds that's simply "how I see you"—a jab at modernist artists' claim to express subjective feeling over objective reality. Life magazine ridicules both: the Artist's self-important theory-spouting and the Pilgrim's bewildered incomprehension. The cartoon suggests modernism was seen as absurdly divorced from reality, while simultaneously portraying traditional values as stubbornly outdated and unable to engage with contemporary art.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LIFE As We See Others A Chromatic Catastrophe Resulting from the Conflict Between Advanced Art and the Puritan Mind HE drama occurs in Provincetown, Mass., where the Hairy Apes come from, This village is also a sanctuary where the Devotees of the Kalei- doscope Modern School congregate in the summer. In the foreground is a Post-Impression house in purest Neo-Primordial style, betraying now and then a slight influence of the Early Kindergarten. The architect has audaciously overcome the conventional prejudice in favor of the vertical as usually applicd to buildings. He has evidently been intrigued by the Leaning Tower of Pisa. With its soft coloring of Michelangelo ma- genta, Matisse yellow, and here and there a joyous relapse into Maxfield Parrish blue, the Edifice blends sweetly into the mellow dusk, It is hardly as obtrusive as a billboard would be in Central Park. The house is the home of Our Hero, an exceed- ingly Advanced Artist, and is an exact replica of a structure in his most famous masterpiece. The patron of the Arts who bought this triumph is thoroughly convinced that its poster reproduction has increased the sale of his 57 varieties. ILGRIM: Give you good mor- row, fair sir, and why have you turned your house into a distracted sketch you to Artist: I fear you are an an- achronism—but never mind—I will commemorate the Within all is blithe and gay. The walls are deco- rated with marvelous pictures of circular ships, octagonal sheep, and petrified waves, each bearing, on a neat card, the legend, “Nearly Sold.” Through a tetrahedral window, mauve rain can be seen fall- ing on a crimson roof. Our Hero is watching it, He is wondering what color will look most unlike rain. He has a noble brow: it is evident the win- dow was modelled from his head. The hue of the beach below is a disappointed green. Scarlet waves are breaking upon it. Our Hero envies the waves: he is quite broke. Ever and anon he carelessly seizes a handful of the viru- lent shadows cast by the French gray fire, in the cerise fireplace, and deftly inserts them into the pic- ture he is painting. Before the fire drowses a dog, done in pastel shades of swooning purple, but as he is purely an imaginary dog he doesn’t mind. A Pilgrim Father bursts into the room; for a moment he reels, dazed, then he puts on smoked glasses and stares wildly about. Artist: You don’t comprehend Modern Art. I don’t try to paint what I see, but instead I express rainbow? Artist: I have merely applied the Theory and Practice of my work to my daily life. And now—that the ensuing conflict between us may be clearly understood—who are you? Piterim: I am one of the seven- ty thousand passengers who have just come hither in the Mayflower in or- der that our descendants—if any— may have something to brag about. In a couple of hundred years they will erect a monument on the beach” to show just where we landed. CHSTEY be GAD event. (He dallies expertly with a ground tone and a few assorted highlights, then displays the canvas proudly to his visitor. After the Pilgrim has recovered from his swoon he sighs heavily in a tone tinged with orange chrome.) Pitcrtm: I never suspected my nose was ultramarine. And why have you made my feet yellow? Artist: That is the way I see you. Pirerim: Consult an oculist. i} jt tks what it makes me feel. Pitcrim: Never mind the oculist, summon a leech, and when he is done with you send him to me. (He shudders a rancid heliotrope shudder, then seizes fuel to replenish the fire. Our Hero restrains him.) Artist: Don’t burn that, it is Bluffem’s famous statue, “A Mid- night Snowstorm in Pittsburgh.” Pivcrim: Gadzooks, and I thought it a lump of coal. (At this point he gets a glimpse of the Artist's dog and flinches.) “That reminds me! I must call up the country club and get starting time for the golf game Sunday.” comicbooks.com